Theft? Sometimes intriguing, but again why steal for someone else? He’d rather steal for himself—and couldn’t, at the moment, think of a single thing worth the effort.

Kidnappings, brainwashings, mutilations. Ho-hum.

Of course there was the standing offer of fifty million for a unicorn, or its horn.

Money couldn’t buy sanity.

If he got bored enough, he might take the time and effort to have a fake horn fabricated. But that was scraping the barrel clean.

He passed a hand over his hair—gilded blond, perfect waves around a handsome face with a sharply sculpted mouth, a thin nose, and deceptively quiet blue eyes.

Perhaps he’d kill Magda—his current amore. Not the whore, whores weren’t worth the killing. But Magda, the heiress with the hint of royal blood. Magda, the beautiful and serene.

He could stage a murder/mutilation, add touches of the occult and sexual perversion. Such a scandal!

It might perk him right up.

He scowled at the knock on his bedroom door, turned when it opened.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Malmon.”

“You’ll be sorrier.” His voice, cold and British, carried a whip of temper. “I expressly told you not to disturb me.”

“Yes, sir. There’s a woman here to see you.”

He stepped forward. “What does ‘not to disturb’ mean to you, Nigel?”

“She’s waiting in the drawing room.”

Nigel, stoic and discreet, offered a card. Incensed, Malmon started to strike it away, but the look in his butler’s eyes stopped him.

Blank. Next to dead. He merely stood, staring, the card held out.

Malmon snatched the card, the glossy black rectangle with the bold red lettering of a single name.

Nerezza

“What does she want?”

“To speak with you, sir.”

“She got past the gate, past Lucien, past you?”

“Yes, sir. Shall I serve refreshments?”

“No, you bloody well won’t serve refreshments. Go hang yourself, Nigel.”

And pushing past the butler, Malmon started down to the parlor.

He felt annoyed, certainly. But he was also curious. He hadn’t been curious for days.

He checked the derringer up his right sleeve. He never went anywhere, not even inside his own homes, unarmed. And since Lucien appeared to be as useless as Nigel, walked into the parlor.

She turned. She smiled.

She was a vision. He couldn’t have said her beautiful, but beauty blinded him. Dark hair swept in coils over her shoulders, made all the more striking by a streak of white bolting through the black.

And black were her eyes, black and wide and mesmerizing against pale white skin. Lips red as blood curved knowingly.

She wore black as well, a dress that molded her tall, stately form.

“Monsieur Malmon.” She walked toward him, glided without a sound—and her voice, faintly exotic, caused his heart to trip. “Je m’appelle Nerezza.”

“Mademoiselle.” He took the offered hand, touched his lips to her knuckles, and felt a thrill like no other.

“Do we speak English? We are in England, after all.”

“As you wish. Please, sit, mademoiselle.”

“Nerezza, please.” With a slither of skirts, she sat. “We will be good friends, you and I.”

“Will we?” He struggled for aplomb, but his heart raced, his blood pounded. “Then we should begin our friendship with a drink.”

“Of course.”

He walked to the bar, poured whiskey for two. Taking charge, taking control—he thought—by not asking what she’d prefer.

He came back, sat across from her. They touched glasses.

“And what brings you to me, Nerezza?”

“Your reputation, of course. You’re the man I need, Andre.” She sipped, watching him. “You will be the one I need. And for my needs, when fulfilled, I can offer you more than anything you’ve had. Dreamed of having.”

“I have much, have dreamed of more.”

“If it’s money, I have all you require. But there are things worth more than gold and silver.”

“Such as?”

“We’ll speak of that, but tonight we’ll speak of stars. What do you know of the Stars of Fortune?”

“A myth. Three stars, fire, water, ice, created by three goddesses to honor a young queen. And cursed by another.”

Her lips curved into a smile sharp enough to slice bone. “What do you think of myths?”

“That many are uncommonly real.”

“As these are real, these stars, I assure you. I want them. You will find them and bring them to me.”

Her eyes were bottomless, lured him into the black. But pride demanded he resist. “Will I?”

“You will. Six stand in your way.”

“No one stands in my way for long.”

“So I have seen, or I would not waste my time, or yours. If you accept the challenge, if you wish to know what I will give you in return, come to the address on my card, tomorrow at midnight.”

“There’s no address on the card.”

She smiled, rose. “Come there, and know your own fortune. Until then.”

She glided out before he had the wit to stand. But when he strode to the doorway, she was gone. As if she’d vanished.

He pulled the card out of his pocket, saw he’d been wrong.

An address was clearly printed on the card.

Fascinated, baffled, more than a little unnerved, he pressed the house intercom. “Lucien.”